


He Calls Himself Humble

by JessicaPendragon



Series: Solas Positivity Week [2]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Arlathan, F/M, Fen'Harel and the Tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 06:16:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4337063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessicaPendragon/pseuds/JessicaPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The true tale of Fen’Harel and the Tree. Young Fen’Harel loves to play with fire and never thinks he will get burned, but he has yet to meet his match.</p><p>For Solas Positivity Week: Day Two, Fen’Harel + The Pantheon</p>
            </blockquote>





	He Calls Himself Humble

Fen’Harel waits behind bark and root for his huntress to come. A smile blooms across his mouth as he hears the undergrowth rustle up ahead and can barely contain a shower of laughter from escaping his lips. As far as his other acts of deceit and cunning go, this is far from his most extravagant ruse, but the idea of its pay off shivers down his spine.

Andruil bursts from the forest, wild and wonderful, with her fire touched hair billowing out from beneath ivory helm. Her legendary bow is drawn with a Fade wrapped arrow caught between strong fingers and she swings the weapon in quick arches as her violet eyes scan the small clearing. 

The crease of concentration on her brow turns to one of confusion and Fen’Harel steps from behind his sanctuary to greet her with a grin. The arrow raises to aim between his eyes and does not lower even when she recognizes his face.

“Where is he?” she asks as he moves across the soft grass towards her, steps swaying with youthful confidence. His newly won power still courses untamed through his veins, and he enjoys testing the limits of what he can now accomplish. 

“Who might that be?” 

“Dirthamen told me you were being attacked by Anaris. What has happened?”

Fen’Harel spreads his hands and stops a few paces from her feet. “As you can see, there is no one else here. It is just us, ma da’assan.” 

“Y-your what-” Andruil narrows her eyes, anger rolling through them for a few seconds until they spark with something else. With a disarming grin of her own, she releases the string of the  bow and wraps the weapon around her lithe frame. “Alone, you say?”

“Indeed,” he replies as she moves forward, removing her hunting gloves with slow precision. 

“And I suppose Anaris was never here to lay siege to our newest member of the pantheon?” she asks as she reaches up to play with the lapels of his fine tunic. 

“I have no inkling how Dirthamen could have come to such a notion,” he answers and Andruil gives a deep laugh. 

“Fen’Harel.” The way she says his name curls through his skin and rumbles through his bones. She is a fierce thing, a warrior worthy of every accolade their people proclaim. He has wanted her the moment he entered their council chambers and saw her shining like a vibrant star upon her throne. He conquered his godhood with a blood filled roar. He will conquer her with a breathless whisper. 

Her deft hands come up and push, gentle but firm, against his shoulders and Fen’Harel retreats back towards his tree. Every tandem step between them builds a fire inside and mirrors the heat growing in her dangerous gaze. If there is one more animal than he, anyone who would prove the greatest prize, it is the woman with flames in her eyes before him now.

When his back presses into the tree, Andruil leans into his skin and her cool armor makes gooseflesh rise. “You are very young, Fen’Harel, and so bold. I do not wonder why Mythal chose to make you one of us, but I do wonder if you understand the fire you play with. Such a clever wolf you are to catch the huntress, but do you know what to do with her once snared?”

“I have some thoughts.”

Andruil brings her fingers down the long cut of his shirt and flares them out to grip tight to his hips. She moves closer until their breath mixes and the heat of her gaze is all he can see.

“Stop thinking,” she whispers, a challenge in the way her eyebrow lifts. 

Cautious eyes still watch her as eager mouth accepts. Her lips are warm, almost burning, and Fen’Harel feels himself melt thinking about how they might feel caressing other parts of him. He leans back, glancing at her waiting expression, before moving again with earnest endeavor. 

He brings a hand up to tilt her head for better purchase and swallows the soft sigh she lets out as he slants his lips to hers. She pulls him flush against her armor and it is all the encouragement he needs to possess her mouth completely, to suck her bottom lip between his teeth and roll his tongue against it, to part her lips and finally taste her.

She is wood smoke, a heady, sultry heat that has him begging for more. He knows he might burn, but the reward is worth the threat. His hands roam down her arms and wrap around her back. Brave fingers sink lower, gliding over the smooth casing of her backside and Andruil bends into him, tilting her head back to offer her graceful throat. She sighs again as his lips leave a wet trail, moans as his teeth graze across her collarbone.

“Fen’Harel,” she says, voice laced with heavy desire and he feels it sink lower into his gut. “Just because I am caught does not mean I am easy prey. Many of my lovers have discovered this truth and left wanting. What would you do to keep me?”

“I am sure there were many who worshiped you, words and tongues trailing across your body in fervent prayer,” he replies as he kisses a sensitive spot just behind her ear. “And those that tried to dominate you, to tie you down until you were the one to cry out their name.”

He bites into skin and smiles against it as she shivers in his grasp. “I would do neither. I would do both. I would listen to the way your soul sings for pleasure with keen, wanting ears. I would leave you satisfied in every way you have imagined and ways you have not.”

He brings his hand around her hips and places the palm against her lower stomach. Fen’Harel waits until he catches her simmering gaze before he lets loose magic from his fingertips. It’s a rush of sparks and cooling waves, just a few seconds of what he can provide, but it is enough to get the reaction he desires. Andruil gasps this time, nails digging into his flesh as her eyes blow wide. 

“In the end, they all wanted something from you, but I wish nothing of the sort. I would not leave your side for days, weeks, years, not until we drew every morsel of ecstasy from one another, until we are both husks yet so thoroughly filled. I have no desire to claim you, Andruil.” He brushes his mouth upon her ear. “I wish to devour you.”

The goddess growls and pushes hard. Air leaves Fen’Harel with a whoosh as his back cracks into the tree and he cannot catch his breath as Andruil sears her lips against his. His smug spirit is practically preening with victory as her touch grows ever more desperate, gripping to his long hair or fisting his clothes within claws. He begins to reach for the clasps of her armor, but her nimble fingers wrap around his wrists almost hard enough to bruise and pin them back against the bark. 

It is his turn to be left senseless by her devotion as she takes his earlobe between her teeth and gentle bites down, as she sucks the flesh above his pulse and causes it to rise. The inability to touch her in return makes him want her all the more, and he can’t help the whine that escapes his throat as she pushes her hips against his, rotating them with such exquisite skill.

Amongst the sound of lips crashing, of moans drawn from deep within, Fen’Harel hears something metallic click. Andruil steps away as fast as a hare and the absence of her body leaves him cold and confused. 

“What…” He moves to follow her and finds he cannot. A glance behind reveals his wrists have been secured around the tree by steel glistening with magic. He gives a tug, testing the strength, and finds they give not an inch. 

When he glances back at Andruil, he finds her wearing a wicked look. Fen’Harel tries to keep his roguish grin even as dread weaves between his ribs. “I do not usually bring out bondage items until later, but if you insist.”

Andruil laughs, but it is a fearsome, devilish thing. “Look at you. A young beta who thinks himself head of the pack. You would try to trap me, trick me to fall for your fumbling ministrations like I am some bumbling maid? I have blinked and missed the entirety of your pathetic life. I have chased prey across the stars and beyond the blackness, and I will not be caught by some fool who thinks himself the whole universe.”

Fen’Harel tugs on his chains. Even with all his new found strength and knowledge, he cannot break free no matter what spell or thing he calls upon. Andruil watches him, her gleeful vengeance flowing off her in waves, before she turns and begins to walk away. “You have much to learn, da fen.”

“Wait, Andruil!” There is a quiver of panic in his voice that he covers up with casual laughter. “Enough of these games, I surrender.  I…”

Andruil stops and turns, waiting. “Yes?”

“I am outmatched, truly. I thought I was clever and wise, but you have humbled me, shown me that such a thing of beauty and power as yourself deserves more than my youthful advances.” He fills his words with honey until the sweetness coats his throat. “Release me and teach me how I might be worthy enough to run by your side.”

She returns to him and places her palms on either side of his head. “Say my name.”

“Andruil.”

“Again.”

Fen’Harel shifts, glancing away as another type of heat blooms on his cheek. “Andruil,” he mumbles.

“Say it again and again and again, until it is the only thing you remember how to speak. Scream it, cry it, curse it and know I am not something to be chased, but something to run from. It may take days, weeks, years. Only when I am satisfied that you have learned this truth will I let you go free, pet.”

The huntress leaves a kiss on his nose before pulling back and crushing the grass beneath her retreating feet. At this, Fen’Harel drops every pretense of his haughty composure. “You cannot be serious. Andruil! Andruil, please!”

He screams for her well after she disappears into the brush. He howls for days and days, curses her name, begs for her mercy, barters everything he has for his release. It is Mythal that eventually answers his call. He cannot look at her as she snaps her fingers and releases Andruil’s spell. He can only lick his wounds as the elder goddess laughs and chastises his foolish behavior. 

“You certainly have caught her interest, congratulations,” Mythal says after her mirth echoes away.

“How can you claim such a thing?” he groans, pained and ashamed.

“Because,” she kisses his brow, “she let you live.”

And even though Mythal’s words prove true, thousands of years later, Fen’Harel is grateful for once that the Dalish have forgotten the truth.


End file.
